


Over Easy

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, Friendship, Gen, midwestern mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn’t been surprised when Mary insisted on accompanying him on this case but it didn’t lessen the shock of all those flat vowels and hard Rs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Easy

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on Tumblr. (I'm soyeahso there, btw.)

Sherlock stared at the drink sitting in front of his companion. The smell of the tomato juice, the vodka, the Worcestershire and the cayenne overpowered the aroma of the various breakfast foods being brought round to the neighboring tables.

“Now, John told me to make sure you eat at least once every two days. Rhubarb is in season so I’m thinking pancakes with fresh strawberry rhubarb syrup and a side of bacon.”

Sherlock’s stomach lurched but he decided to appease her.

“It’s all the same to me.”

Mary summoned the waitress and placed the order, along with sausage and eggs and potatoes and biscuits for herself, reverting to her childhood accent seamlessly.  He hadn’t been surprised when Mary insisted on accompanying him on this case but it didn’t lessen the shock of all those flat vowels and hard Rs. 

 “Why did you bother ordering breakfast?”

“Hmm?” Mary asked, engrossed in her phone.

“You’ve practically got a meal perched on the rim of that glass.  Why do you need sausage and eggs, too?”

Mary plucked the green olive off the end of the toothpick in her glass, which was also laden with a pickle, several cubes of cheese, a few slices of pepperoni and a pickled Brussels sprout.

“It’s an appetizer,” she said.

 “It’s not particularly appetizing.”

“That’s because you’re hungover. Now put that ice pack back on your eye.”

“It’s cold.”

“That’s the point.  It won’t help the bruising at this point but it will help the swelling.”

Sherlock sighed, eliciting that wry half smile from Mary that he never failed to return. He watched the trucks pulling in and out of the parking lot as she finished checking her email. 

“They’re going to do it again before we catch them,” he said. “Neither of us can decipher their pattern, which means they’re truly striking at random.  The police don’t care enough and so far none of the girls has the kind of family that can raise enough of a fuss.”

“Because obviously a couple of truck stop serial killers can’t possibly be smart enough to outwit you?  I thought you’d be less of a snob after—“

“After what?”

“The cabbie,” she said, popping the last of her cheese cubes in her mouth.

“Jefferson Hope was in another class altogether.”  He froze, eyes darting to the parking lot, to Mary’s face, her phone, and back.  “Oh.”

“Sherlock, what?”

He dropped the ice pack on the table, hopped up and kissed her on the forehead.  “You’re brilliant, Mary.  Thank you.”  He leapt out the diner door, the bell jangling as it closed behind him. 

Their waitress appeared, balancing their tray of food on her shoulder.  “Did he forget his wallet or somethin’?” she asked.

“Forgot he had an appointment,” Mary said.  “Can we get it to go?”


End file.
